Lord, make us bearers of hope

I’m going to change gears a little hear for a personal story.

My oldest son Ian recently arrived in Tanzania, completing a three-continent journey that started in San Francisco. He’s there not to sample the great spices of Zanzibar or explore the wildlife in Serengeti National Park but as part of his new assignment with the Department of Homeland Security.

Having spent the previous two-plus years working in immigration services for DHS, Ian has taken a position as a refugee resettlement officer, a role that demands he travel to various camps around the world to vet and aide those men and women seeking refuge from war, oppression, famine and other life-threatening hardships. This first assignment will likely bring him in contact with refugees from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the same group I encountered post-relocation at St. Peter Claver in Lexington, Kentucky. I’m sure Ian has been brushing up on his Swahili in preparation for the assignment.

As you can imagine, we’re a little nervous about this new role (particularly his mom), especially when we learned one of the classes refugee resettlement officers take is an “offensive driving course.” But, for me at least, the trepidation is more than offset by the tremendous pride I have in him for taking on this most Christ-like of responsibilities.

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me. I was ill and you comforted me, in prison and you came to visit me.” Matthew 25:31-36

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